


The Odd Hours of the Night

by caelestislux



Category: Creature Feature (Band), Creature Feature - Fandom
Genre: Implied/Referenced Violence, Inspired by Music, Odd Hours - Song, it's left unclear though, just like the song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelestislux/pseuds/caelestislux
Summary: Our narrator thinks on his neighborhood and how perfect—and strange and secretive—all of his neighbors are. But he can't judge too harshly, he's sure he's no better.
Kudos: 2





	The Odd Hours of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, not too long after the most recent album came out. But I recently reread it and really liked it, so I'm posting it here. Not sure if the narrator is intended to be Curtis or not, so that's left up to interpretation!

I live in a perfect neighborhood.

Absolutely perfect. Nothing out of order, nothing misplaced, nothing askew. During the summer, the trees are trimmed neatly, the grass mowed on every lawn. Children play outside with their bikes, never falling or injuring themselves. During the winter, the snow is scraped to either side of the road, leaving no flakes behind, and every yard shimmers with a glow that cannot be replicated by those twinkle lights. 

The neighbors are friendly as well, at least, whenever I happen to see them out and about. Admittedly, some of the neighbors have quite interesting personalities, but none of them have done anything off-putting. At least, not yet.

For example, take the old man that lives down the block. Quite an amicable fellow, I would say. During the daytime, he works as a garbage collector and is nothing but nice to the children interested in his large truck with its garbage lift. He keeps his long, gray beard trimmed neatly, and his eyes gleam with a wisdom that can only be created by age.

However, I do know for a fact that he is hiding something, as his curtains are always drawn and his front and back doors contain five locks each. I used to have a theory that he’s just paranoid about being robbed or spied on, but after a night in which I heard a muffled cry echo from his house, I am not too sure. The sound of the cry could have just come from a pet, or perhaps the man himself, but either way, it chilled me to the bone.

There is also the lady who lives two doors down. Her hair is pinned up in blond curls, her hats boast several types of flowers, and her house is always neat and tidy. She loves children, even though she has none of her own. She keeps the demeanor of someone calm and collected at all times, even going so far as to invite others over for tea quite often. I have been to her house myself a time or two, for that matter. 

Still, I have seen her in the dead of night, digging holes in her own backyard. She digs a medium-sized hole, slips in some unknown object, then fills it with dirt once again, effectively burying all that she wants to hide. I have considered sneaking into her backyard and digging the objects up again, but she has security cameras, and I do not want any bad relations with her. Nevertheless, the idea that something dangerous could be buried in the dirt does scare me quite a bit.

Along with those two, there is a neighbor that lives up the street. Not many people see him, which is why he’s such a mystery to the neighborhood. I myself have seen him twice, once to borrow a rake and once to deliver his mail that had been mistakenly given to me. Both times, he appeared the same: a thin young man with wiry glasses wearing a polo shirt and khakis. He welcomed me and did let me use his rake, although he did not let me enter his toolshed. 

Despite his reclusive behavior, he is a nice man and a fully welcome member of the neighborhood. Still, I do wonder what he is hiding inside his house, and more importantly, his toolshed. Once or twice, I could’ve sworn I heard screams coming from that toolshed, but I could have been mistaken. He lives on the edge of the woods, and many creatures live there, so it would not be a stretch to say that I simply heard the sound of an unusual animal.

There are also my next door neighbors. I used to be quite close to them, but not any longer, as they seem to never leave their house, though I know that notion is a bit silly. I used to see the whole family, a mother, a father, and two children, nearly every day. The children would play outside, the mother would wave to me when walking to get her mail, and the father would let me use his weed whacker whenever I asked. Now all they do is stay inside.

The only member of their family I ever see is the housewife, who runs errands during the day and does the family’s chores at night. She is a hardworking woman, though her demeanor is generally stern. I have seen her working at night by the light of a single bulb, and that is when I happen to see the dark shapes of the family sitting in the dimly lit living room. That is the same position I have seen them in every time, and they never seem to move. I would like to see if they are okay, but every time I ring the doorbell, only the housewife answers.

Yes, my neighborhood has several interesting characters, all who seem to have something to hide. How can I judge them, though? Who am I to judge how they enjoy spending their time, whether it be in the open or in secret? Their actions have no effect on my life anyhow. 

If they only knew what I have to hide. If any of the aforementioned neighbors could see what is in my cellar, they would certainly fear me more than I fear them. I'd prefer not to reveal my own secret, but I will just say that if my secret got out, it would cause a stir. 

I do believe I’m just like them.

So I have decided to ignore the more unusual aspects of my neighbors. Even though the darkness hides excursions and events that only occur within the odd hours of the night, by the light of day . . .

I live in a perfect neighborhood.


End file.
